


Overdoing It

by taylor_tut



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Sick Character, Sick Lance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Lance pushes himself a bit too far with a cold. Shiro is there to make it better and to only scold him a little for being an idiot.





	Overdoing It

“Lance, you know you can take a sick day if you need it,” Shiro informed, sounding slightly disgusted as he watched Lance wipe his nose on his sleeve. They were about to start sparring, and Lance was up first. 

“I’m good,” Lance dismissed, his voice sounding rough and painful. “It’s just a cold.”

“You’re going to infect us all,” Pidge said.

“I’ll be wearing a helmet,” Lance objected. He coughed a few times to clear his throat, and it sounded alarmingly wet.

“That’s not the issue, Lance,” Shiro argued, “You sound awful and you shouldn’t be training.” 

Lance ignored him, jamming his helmet over his head irritably and hopping into the ring to wait for a competitor. 

“We all know I of all people can’t afford to skip training,” he muttered, “So let’s just get on with it.”

“What do you mean?” Hunk asked, but Keith was already standing in the ring facing Lance with his fists up, and the conversation dropped.

The fight was less than impressive. Every movement that Lance made was slugglish, and his reflexes were slow. Keith pinned him once, twice, three times before Shiro finally called it. 

“That’s enough,” he interrupted, “You’re going to hurt him.” Keith rolled off of Lance, leaving him still lying in the center of the ring, struggling to catch his breath and covered in sweat. He stifled congested coughs through a closed mouth, so strong that they made him curl in a bit with each heave of his chest.

“Lance?” Hunk tried, “You okay?”

Lance sighed and shook Hunk off his arm as the yellow paladin tried to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he reassured, “just tired.”

Shiro ushered Hunk into the ring and faced him, ready to spar, and Lance weaved his way over to a chair on the sidelines and plopped down heavily, letting his eyes drift shut as Pidge watched Hunk and Shiro fight.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice startled him from his near-sleep, “Drink.” A water pouch hit his lap and he nodded at Keith.

“Thanks,” he smiled tiredly, taking a few gulps before leaning his head back against the wall once more and drifting off once more until the end of training.

* * *

“Lance!” Shiro’s shout startled him awake. It didn’t sound like it was the first time he’d tried to get his attention.

“Sorry,” Lance apologized, blinking heavily, “I’m up.” He rubbed his hands down his face and plastered a smile onto his face to look up at Shiro. 

“We’re finished sparring,” he explained, “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“What are the rest of you going to do?”

“We’ve got to do some training in the Lions, but–”

“Then that’s what I’ll do, too,” Lance resolved. 

Before Shiro could object, Lance was already walking out of the room and to his lion.

Training was rough. Lance’s head was pounding by the time they finished, so much so that he was starting to wonder if this could really be just a cold. As soon as they exited their lions, Shiro jogged up to Lance to confront him. 

“You did a good job today,” he praised. Lance scoffed.

“Yeah, right,” Lance rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to go easy on me, Shiro,” he snapped, coughing a few times into his fist, “I know I messed up.”

“You managed,” Shiro argued. “I know you’re not feeling well.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Lance bit out. Shiro was taken aback by the uncharacteristic moodiness. “What would have happened if that was a real attack?”

“But it wasn’t,” Shiro placated. “It was training, and you’re ill.”

“If you don’t think I can fight through a little cold, then why am I on the team at all?”

“Lance–”

“Forget it; I don’t want to argue this anymore,” he finished. Lance coughed a few more times into his elbow, and Shiro’s stomach knotted in worry. 

“Hey, we’re not done talking,” Shiro called, but Lance didn’t even turn around, just waved his hand above his head in an angry, dismissive gesture.

Shiro didn’t see Lance again until dinner. He watched him like a hawk, watched him try to keep up in conversation for a small amount of time before giving up and resting his head on his hand, watched him pick at his food without eating any of it, and watched him fight to keep his eyes open before finally losing the battle and drifting off in his seat. 

Shiro thought that enough was enough. He stood from his seat and walked around the table to crouch next to Lance, halting everyone’s conversations as they watched him silently and curiously.

“Lance,” he murmured, “hey. Go to bed.” Lance stirred a little bit, eyelids fluttering, and looked at Shiro. “You okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” Lance nodded, but he looked tired and miserable. He was cold, shivering, despite the warmth of the room. 

“Are you sure about that?”

“M’fine, Shiro,” Lance muttered. “I’m going to sleep.” Lance pushed his chair away from the table and stood, not saying a word to anyone as he left the dining table.

Shiro hesitated for a moment, sitting back down at the table, trying to convince himself that Lance would be fine, that he just needed sleep, and that he should be left alone.

But the quiet, expectant gaze of the paladins finally bore into him enough that he, too, wordlessly excused himself from the table and to Lance’s room. He knocked on the door.

“Lance?” he called, receiving only a groan for an answer. It made his heart race. “Lance, are you okay?”

“Shiro,” mumbled a quiet voice from the other side of the door.

“Shit,” Shiro cursed, throwing open the door and scanning the darkened room frantically.

Lance was lying on the ground, next to a trash basin that he’d clearly been sick into.

“Probably should have gone to bed earlier, like you said,” Lance smiled weakly. 

“I knew you were overdoing it,” Shiro chastised. “Come on, you should be in bed.” Shiro helped Lance sit on the corner of his bed and stepped away to grab a pair of pyjama bottoms for him. “Put these on,” he instructed, but Lance was already asleep on the bed in his jeans. “Lance,” Shiro prodded, shaking him awake, “I’m not going to take your pants off while you’re asleep; that’s creepy.”

Lance stirred enough to start to unbotton his jeans, and Shiro was able to help him dress in the soft pyjama pants. But Lance seemed disoriented and quiet, and that was worrisome. Shiro thought for the first time that maybe this was more than a slight cold.

On a hunch, he reached over and placed his flesh hand on Lance’s forehead, grimacing at the heat. 

“Have you been training all day with this fever?” he asked, but Lance was leaning heavily on his hand, and nearly asleep. Shiro sighed longsufferingly and guided Lance gently into a recumbent position.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. 

“I’ll be back with some things for you,” he promised. “Just get some sleep already, will you?”

Lance obliged the request.


End file.
